Take care, my dear friend. All my love, Flors x

With a sigh, Mags took two sheets of writing paper from her pad and then took the lid off the pot of ink that stood at the back of the top shelf of the bureau and dipped her pen into it. She would write to Harold:

My dearest, darling Harold,

I have been a fool. I see that now. Nothing is worth more than having you by my side. Of course I want to be your wife, and I promise I will never keep anything from you again.

Crossing herself to negate this lie, she put the pen down and found the small knob under the side of the bureau. Pressing it caused her to jump, even though she knew the secret drawer always made a loud click when it shot open. Into it she tucked Flors’s letter. She would break her ties with Flors, but she wouldn’t disclose to Harold where his sister was. And yes, she would keep the letter . . . just in case.

And my darling, I can, and will be, the wife you want me to be. I will leave the running of the mill to you and Daddy.

It will work, it will – I can do this. I must.

Your letter aroused feelings in me that are still reverberating around my body. My blood is pounding sensations to every part of me.

Oh, Harold, I so want – and need – you, too. Marry me and make me yours every day. Our bed will be our loving place; a place where our children are made, a place where our bond will be so deep and so binding that no one can ever divide us again, and no past can encroach upon us.

What happened in our lives previously occurred to two very different people. We are us: the ‘us’ that is now; the ‘us’ that no one can put asunder. Come back to me soon, my darling.

Your loving Mags x

A turmoil of emotions churned through her as she sat back. How was it that she’d given in so easily, after vowing to fight for her rights within the marriage? Her signature on what she’d written changed her future. Would she be able to settle down to the routine of running the household? And what of her dream of owning the mill? That will never happen now, as Daddy will surely think it prudent to leave it to Harold, once we are married. Oh, why am I beset with doubts?

Rising from the chair, she picked up the letter and sealed it in an envelope. Her choice was made, and now she must live by it. Walking briskly, she took the letter to the salver on the hall stand. One of the household staff would take it to the post office.

‘Oh, I was coming to look for you, my dear.’

Her father’s voice seemed to compound the sadness within her. Not only at having given up her dreams, but because Father no longer spoke in a commanding way that held confidence, but as if he was apologizing. He was like a lost soul, since Mother’s passing.